


light lanterns along your spine

by myownremedy



Series: It Hurts To Become [2]
Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Blind Character, Depression, Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myownremedy/pseuds/myownremedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fall Mark gets a new seeing eye dog is also the fall Eduardo starts having nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	light lanterns along your spine

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: discussion of past child abuse and trauma; character with PTSD; references to: self-harm, disfigurement, eye injuries; discussion and depiction of depression and grieving.  
> Title from Shinji Moon's book of poetry, The Anatomy of Being  
> Disclaimer: y'all gay, this is fictional, mark isn't blind, don't sue me.  
> edit (4-13-15): this is a transformative work. I make no money off of it. I do not own what inspired this work (The Social Network), but I do own this work itself and hold full copyright over it. Thank you.
> 
> Fun and exciting stuff in the end notes!!!!

"I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know there’s nothing but light when I see you."

— _Shinji Moon,_ The Anatomy of Being

_2007_

 

The fall Mark gets a new seeing eye dog is also the fall Eduardo starts having nightmares.

He’s had nightmares before but never regularly, never every night and Mark gets used to shaking him awake, Ianthe and Bossman spread out near their feet. Eduardo almost always tries to press himself further into the bed, at once shrinking away from Mark’s touch and desperate for him. Mark never knows what to do so he leaves his hand open, palm up, in the space between them and every night Eduardo reaches over and holds on.

It gets bad enough that Mark decides to say something, sits down on the bed and listens to Eduardo turn the pages of his book before reaching out and brushing his fingertips along Eduardo’s arm, from his wrist to his elbow to his shoulder, and then up to the top of the raised scars on Eduardo’s back.

“Eduardo,” he says quietly and hears Eduardo put the book down. Mark can always tell when Eduardo is looking at him, can feel it and he turns his head in Eduardo’s direction, pretends their eyes are meeting.

Eduardo doesn’t say anything. Mark knows, by now, that it’s difficult for him to speak sometimes.

“Eduardo,” Mark repeats, “have you told Marielle about your nightmares?” Marielle is Eduardo’s therapist and Mark really likes her, because Eduardo really likes her and Marielle is very gentle and efficient, which is a combination Mark appreciates and Eduardo needs.

“Yes.” The sound is drawn out. “I’ll tell her again.”

“I just. You seem unhappy,” Mark isn’t good at this, never has been. He feels Eduardo shrug and brings his hand up to Eduardo’s cheek, waits until Eduardo nods before mapping out his expression – the thick eyebrows, the wrinkles in his forehead, the thinned mouth.

Mark doesn’t ask _is it because of me_ because he’s almost completely sure it’s not, thinks it’s something to do with the scars on Eduardo’s back and the fact he hasn’t been home since 2004.

 

Eduardo comes home from his next session and mentions, offhandedly, how change can trigger nightmares and Mark spends the next few days chewing on that before asking Chris to come over and hang out – do people still say ‘hang out’? He doesn’t have time for this; he has a business to run. When Chris does come over, Mark gives him a beer and makes small talk for half an hour before bringing it up.

“Eduardo doesn’t like change.”

“Okay,” Chris says.  Chris is like a doctor – he has different voices, and this is his patient, non-judgmental voice. Mark has heard a lot of this voice but it’s not condescending and after spending four years with Eduardo he feels a little stupid for still asking Chris questions like this.

“Why?” Mark asks finally. “He’s a business man. Business is about change. The economy changes. Even the weather changes.”

Chris makes a broken off noise, like a chuckle and Mark smiles in his direction, knows Chris is laughing about the weather comment.

“Mark, I don’t know,” Chris admits; Mark hears the clank of him setting down his beer bottle. “Eduardo and I don’t really talk about that stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“His background,” Chris clarifies. He pauses.

“You have a theory, Christopher.” Mark prompts, leaning forward. Bossman, heavy and warm next to him, stirs and Mark runs a hand down the length of his back. “Don’t insult me by pretending you don’t.”

“I’d guess that change wasn’t very safe for him,” Chris says finally and Mark settles back into the couch, because that’s what he thought, and that’s what he doesn’t like. The idea of Eduardo not being safe, or not feeling safe, even when he’s with Mark. Especially when he’s with Mark.

“What changed?’ Chris asks after a minute and his voice is so kind that Mark wants to give him a scathing look out of habit, but instead he pets Bossman on the head.

“We got Bossman,” Mark says after a minute. “That’s all I can think of.”

Bossman’s tail thumps in response to his name, and he shoves his wet nose against Mark’s thigh.

“I just don’t know how to help.” Mark admits, and Chris doesn’t say anything at all.

 

\---

 

Marielle refers Eduardo to another therapist – someone that specializes in stuff like EMDR and biofeedback and heart rate variability training and Mark has his assistant, Pisces, look up, summarize, and read to him what each of these terms mean. Pisces is one of those nice voiced people, very professional and very gentle and sort of odd, and Mark doesn’t really know anything about them other then they’ve been working for him for two months, he hired them because they were smart and could read braille, and their voice is a bit higher then his own.

It’s sort of weird, to do this kind of covert research when Eduardo is a few floors above him, head of the financial department but still in the same building.

“Sir,” Pisces says finally, and their voice is cautious enough that Mark stops coding and spins in his chair, in the direction of Pisces’ voice. “Sir, I took the liberty of looking up some therapists that offer these services and –”

“It’s not for me,” Mark cuts them off. “It’s for a friend. I just wanted to know.”

Pisces doesn’t say anything.

“I like to be in the know,” Mark explains, frowning at himself – he doesn’t _like_ explaining himself but Pisces actually does this a lot, stands there and is quiet and Mark talks until Pisces go away. “A – a friend is doing this, so I wanted to know what it meant.”

“Ah,” Pisces says. “That – was nice.” Their voice changes, shifts back into that neutral, professional setting. “Is that all, Sir?”

“Call me Mark,” Mark orders, because he hates being called _sir_ in the sort of abstract way he used to crave it, but he’s learned in these last three years that there’s more to authority then being called ‘sir.’ “Yes.”

“You have a board meeting after lunch,” Pisces reminds him, and leaves.

 

Eduardo starts to see his new therapist on Tuesdays. He leaves from work and goes straight home after therapy, and Dustin ends up driving Mark home on those days, because Eduardo is quiet and listless after therapy and Mark doesn’t want to ask him for anything.

He knows their little house well enough to not need to use his cane or Bossman, knows where to find Eduardo because of how he smells – amber-warm-soap-sun – but when he walks up to the couch and moves so his hand finds Eduardo’s shoulder, Eduardo flinches away and Mark takes his hand away and grips the back of the couch instead.

“Do you remember our first spring?” Mark asks, reality flickering and distorting enough that he hears himself say it without giving himself permission to speak, but the words hang in the air so he waits. “Do you remember the daffodils?”

He means, _do you remember when you told me that I could see you more clearly then anyone I’ve ever met? Do you remember when I told you that you were easy to see?_

Eduardo is quiet for a long time, and Mark focuses on the rustling of his button down shirt and the sound of his breathing – hoarse, and shallow, and very, very quiet.

“It’s winter,” Eduardo says instead of replying, and gets up. Mark hears him leave the room. He doesn’t follow.

 

Eduardo’s silence creeps through the house and Mark doesn’t know how to deal with it, starts spending more time at the office in an effort to escape. He can’t think straight amidst everything Eduardo isn’t saying, can’t breathe because it’s so stilted and the holiday season begins to loom, so Mark has an excuse.

He begins to plan for a new update, wants to rework the tagging system maybe and he loses track of how long he spends at the office, knows that when he comes home Eduardo is usually already asleep, because when Eduardo is alone he stretches out over the bed and ends up using Mark’s pillow, but always allows himself to be moved when Mark pokes at him.

In sleep it’s like nothing’s changed, because Eduardo moves until Mark is spooning him, Mark’s lips at the base of Eduardo’s neck, the long lines of his body relaxing slowly into Mark’s arms.

But when they are awake, the distance between them stretches out like fishing line, the knots that kept them bound together being tugged lose, the line straightening without snapping and Mark feels the pull of Eduardo everywhere he goes.

He learns that grief can change a person’s smell, because Eduardo doesn’t the smell the same – there’s a tang that wasn’t present before, something bitter and unfamiliar and for a minute Mark has to sit himself down and wonder if Eduardo is having an affair, if this is the proverbial lipstick on his collar.

But no, there’s no infidelity here, just diversion – a wandering of attention. The fall into grieving, something Eduardo has been trying to avoid his entire life.

 

“Wardo,” Mark says over dinner one night, and hears Eduardo put down his knife and fork. “Wardo, is there anything I can do?”

Eduardo doesn’t answer for a long time, breathing fast and shallow and Mark keeps eating, counts each bite and when he can’t find any more food pokes his fork around his plate aimlessly.

“No,” Eduardo’s voice is soft. Then: “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Mark manages, even though it’s _not_ because Eduardo is hurting and there’s nothing Mark can do except watch, and wait. “Will you let me know? If there is anything I can do?”

“Yeah,” Eduardo promises, voice grating, like bits of sand against skin and Mark nods. He listens to the sounds of Eduardo clearing the table and absentmindedly feels the skin under his eyes, the raised scars; the ugliness there.

He’s worried enough to call his mother but doesn’t really know how to talk about it, listens to the phone ring and props it between his ear and his shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do,” Mark admits, one ear cocked for the sound of the shower shutting off. “He’s withdrawing.”

“Come to Thanksgiving,” is his mom’s suggestion. “Maybe that will help.”

 

\---

 

Mark has Pisces book their flights and arrange everything, doesn’t want to make Eduardo worry. He’s noticed that Eduardo has had trouble getting out of bed in the morning and while he’s earned more then enough sick leave it’s unsettling, because Eduardo has always been so committed to his job.

That’s what convinces him that Eduardo needs something, maybe a change of scenery, maybe a holiday spent with Mark’s family. Eduardo loves Mark’s family, has said so multiple times.

Mark just hates leaving Facebook.

“I’ll need you to email me updates twice a day at least,” Mark instructs Pisces, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, Bossman guiding him through the hallways of Facebook. “We always get more users during the holidays, usually family wanting to connect with family or young people teaching their grandparents how to use Facebook and how to set it up. Our main distinction is that we –”

“– don’t crash,” Pisces finishes for him, tone wry. “I know, Mark. Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”

“My vacation hasn’t started yet,” Mark snaps, then pauses. “What are you doing for the holidays? You have family?”

“No,” Pisces says; Mark imagines them shrugging. “My housemates and I are going to get together, throw a not-thanksgiving party.”

“Why not-thanksgiving?” Mark asks, letting Bossman guide him around a corner.

“Because Thanksgiving is celebrating colonialism and genocide,” Pisces answers matter-a-factly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be over to check on Ianthe while you’re gone.”

“She’s staying with Chris and Sean, she should be fine,” Mark mutters and steps into an elevator. He hears Pisces follow him.

“Dustin says this is the first time you’ve gone home for thanksgiving in three years,” Pisces says. The elevator dings, announcing they’ve passed a floor. “Why go home now?”

“We need some family time,” Mark answers after a minute, turning to stare in the direction of Pisces’ voice. They’re curious like this, in quiet, unexpected moments and Mark understands taking a million different pieces and combining them to form a bigger picture, but he’s curious what he looks like to Pisces.

Pisces hums. Then: “How’s your friend? The one in therapy?”

Mark shrugs. “Hopefully they’ll get some family time too.”

“Oh,” Pisces says. “Most people in therapy hate family time. It makes everything…worse.”

Mark blinks. The elevator dings and moments later the doors roll back.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he tells Pisces, and lets Bossman lead him through the lobby and out of the building.

 

Dustin is on the same flight home as them and Mark wonders idly if Pisces did that on purpose but doesn’t ask, just maneuvers it so Eduardo sits between him and Dustin and listens to Dustin’s ridiculous stories and Eduardo’s laughter.

It’s been so long since Eduardo’s laughed, and Mark wants to stick his face against Eduardo’s neck and breathe him in, wants to know if that bitter tang is gone. But it’s not, it sticks to his skin so Mark settles for taking Eduardo’s hand in his own and clutching it, his other hand on Bossman’s handle.

There’s an inflight movie and Mark listens to it through the headphones and stubbornly holds onto Eduardo’s hand. It takes him most of the movie to realize that Eduardo is squeezing back, even though he’s fallen asleep. That helps.

 

Mark ends up using his cane to navigate through the airport, keeping one hand on Bossman’s harness and the other on his cane and he senses more then hears Eduardo’s sharp intake of breath.

“Wardo?” Mark asks, already turning towards him out of habit more then anything else, because he can’t _see_ Eduardo and this is one of those times he’s irritated (again) with being blind, but Eduardo’s hand curls around his wrist.

“I’ve missed your cane,” Eduardo’s voice is soft and warm and Mark lets go of Bossman’s harness to trace the outline of his face, feeling the stamp of his smile and the crinkle of his eyes.

“I missed you,” he says before he can stop himself and Eduardo leans into the touch, and Mark knows they’re in the middle of a crowded airport but this is more then he’s had in months and he’s happy enough that he’s shaking.

In the taxi ride to Mark’s parent’s house, Eduardo slings an arm around Mark’s shoulder and asks him, “Do you remember our first November?”

“The beginning of Facebook?” Mark asks and feels Eduardo shake his head, then press his lips to Mark’s temple.

“When I found you in the blizzard.”

“We weren’t together then,” Mark says, because he _does_ remember.

“It was the beginning,” Eduardo murmurs and Mark carefully reaches down to squeeze Eduardo’s knee.

 

\---

 

Mark’s sisters are all there – Randi, Donna, and Arielle and they all rush him at once, almost knocking him down, and he doesn’t know who is who because it’s a whirlwind of perfume and giggles.

“I’m going to suffocate,” he chokes out and they release him, and then move onto Eduardo. Mark keeps a hand on Eduardo’s lower back the entire time, feels him shiver like a nervous horse and thinks about what Pisces said, about family time.

Thanksgiving is the next day so Mark’s extended family hasn’t arrived yet; it’s just his sisters, his parents, him and Eduardo and Bossman and Mark keeps a hand on Eduardo’s knee beneath the dinner table and listens instead of talks.

He wants to convince Randi to come out to Palo Alto – Facebook could use her – but his mom gets angry whenever he brings up business during dinner so he waits and listens to Eduardo lie through his teeth about how great things are at home, listens to him act happy and upbeat and Mark wonders if his family can see right through it, or if they don’t know Eduardo well enough.

Mark has never been sure if Eduardo’s mask never fooled him, if he always saw right through it or if Eduardo’s façade is slipping. He hasn’t needed it in years and suddenly he does, suddenly he’s bearing an open wound that he doesn’t want anyone to see.

(Mark remembers when Eduardo first visited him at home, and how confused Eduardo was, and what he had learned then and how much it had hurt, and he wonders if this will be the same.)

 

His parents have set up an air mattress for them in the basement this time, knowing they can’t just share Mark’s old twin sized bed so Mark lets Bossman and Eduardo guide him down the unfamiliar stairs. It’s cold in the basement, cold enough that Mark buries his fingers in the fur of Bossman’s ruff and scratches under his ears, and all the while he waits for Eduardo to finish getting ready for bed.

“Do you hate it here?” Mark asks when Eduardo has stretched out next to him. He feels the weight of Eduardo’s gaze on his face but doesn’t turn to look at him, stares blankly at the darkness ahead of him.

“No,” Eduardo says, but he sounds unsure and Mark shifts his legs, uncomfortable.

“I thought you liked my family,” Mark plucks at the waistband of his sweatpants absently, stretches his other arm above his head. “You said you liked them.”

“I do like them,” Eduardo answers, and the honesty in his voice winks out at Mark. “I just don’t like families.”

“In general?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like us?” Mark keeps the words in his mouth for a long while before asking the question, tries to fit his tongue around the syllables. “We’re a family, Wardo.”

“Oh,” Eduardo says and Mark feels him shift, and then Eduardo plasters himself against Mark’s side, his head on Mark’s chest. “Yes. I like us very much. I just wish…” He trails off. Mark lets his hand drop onto Eduardo’s head, petting him absently, and Eduardo sighs.

 

Mark’s mother shoos all of them out of the house the next day, claiming she can’t work with all of them underfoot and Randi and Donna and Arielle ask him if he wants to go shopping with them – no – but Eduardo volunteers, so Mark lets him go and then stubbornly refuses to leave and ends up sitting in the kitchen and talking to his mom over the sound of her crossheading sprouts.

“He seemed very nervous at dinner last night,” she says without prompting, jumping right into conversation and Mark shrugs, turning his head in the direction of her voice.

“He hates families,” he admits. “I didn’t know, until after. He didn’t tell me. He likes you guys, just…”

“Just families in general,” Karen Zuckerberg makes a small clucking sound and Mark knows the face she’s making, can visualize it clearly. In his mind’s eye he’s still fifteen and his mum hasn’t aged at all, never mind they’re both eight years older. “That’s not uncommon. Most child abuse survivors don’t know how to act around families. They’re not used to the idea of families being safe.”

“It’s been three years, though,” Mark points out selfishly. “He was doing so well and then he just…crashed.” He pauses, listens to his mother wash her hands. “I know he doesn’t like change, something about it not being safe, and it seemed to happen around the time we got Bossman. How could that trigger his depression?”

“When did you get Bossman again?” His mother asks absently.

“This fall, right around Rosh Hashanah,” Mark offers. They didn’t celebrate Rosh Hashanah – neither of them are big on religion – but it’s a good date of reference.

“The holidays are usually a big trigger for child abuse survivors.” His mom explains after a minute. “Especially since the holidays are all about family, and Eduardo hates family because of what he associates it with.”

“But he’s not with them anymore,” Mark points out.

“It still hurts,” His mom is frowning; he can hear it. “I think he’s finally in a place where he can safely process what happened to him, which means he’s hurting, and angry.”

“When will he stop hurting?” Mark scratches Bossman’s ear and tries not to broadcast how fucking anxious he is, but he hates this conversation, hates that it’s necessary to have this conversation. He used to be able to read Eduardo so easily, and it’s like Eduardo is moving further and further away from him.

“I don’t know,” his mom says. “I can’t give you a set time and date. That’s not how it works.”

 

Mark’s mostly-deaf grandpa Harold and great grandmother Ruth and his aunt Ester and uncle Richard come over and everyone spends a lot of time shouting so Mark’s grandpa can hear them. Arielle and Donna bicker back and forth about who’s going to pass the rolls, and great grandmother Ruth and Mark’s father argue loudly about George W. Bush and Dick Cheney, and Mark keeps his hand on Eduardo’s knee the entire time.  Eduardo shakes but Mark hears his smile, feels him gradually relax and even talks to Mark’s dad about the economy and then explains how hurricanes work to Donna and Arielle and Mark gets distracted when his Uncle Richard makes too many deaf/blind jokes.

 

His grandpa gets rather drunk and even louder and Mark notices how Eduardo starts shaking again and excuses them, claiming a headache and dragging Eduardo down to the basement to ‘take care’ of Mark.

Instead Eduardo lays on the bed on his back and Mark waits for him to talk, but all Eduardo does is concentrate on breathing and swallowing.

“Grandpa Harold isn’t an alcoholic,” Mark says finally, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “He just gets loud if we let him have too much sherry.”

He expects Eduardo to make a joke about sherry, something about who drinks sherry but instead Eduardo says: “My mom liked to drink gin.”

Eduardo has talked about his parents before, has told Mark about them, about what happened the day he left and all before that, but never unprompted and not since summer before last. Mark doesn’t know what to say, so he reaches over and squeezes Eduardo’s hand.

“Gin is pretty good,” he says, and then winces, but Eduardo laughs dryly.

“She liked Martinis. Classic Martinis, and gin and tonic.”

Mark thinks, stupidly, about the appletinis they drank with Sean.

“Liked?”

“I don’t know. She probably still does. We haven’t spoken…” Eduardo stops talking and takes a deep, steadying breath. “We haven’t spoken,” he repeats, “since I left.”

Mark tries to imagine not talking to his mother for three years. He can’t. He can still hear his grandpa bellowing upstairs about Vietnam.

“She chose to stay with him,” Eduardo says, like it’s a conclusion, and Mark grips his hand tighter. “She always chose him, and later she chose her gin. I wasn’t –” He stops again. Mark bites his lip, tries to remember how to breathe. “I wasn’t enough.”

“You’re enough for me.” Mark says hoarsely and he hears the bed rustle as Eduardo nods. “You’ve always been enough for me.”

They separate to slip under the covers and Eduardo makes no move to bridge the distance between them so Mark lets it be. He listens to Eduardo drift off, loses himself in the added darkness of the basement and the sound of Eduardo’s breathing, and the soft sounds Bossman makes as he dreams. And then:

“I wanted to be enough for them,” Eduardo breathes out, a single admission that he’s been carrying around in his bones for years. Mark doesn’t know how to respond, listens to the sound of Eduardo’s breathing, each breath a tidal wave, something that rises and rises and crests and crests but never breaks.

Eduardo doesn’t speak again and Mark reaches out for him, fingers grazing the slope of Eduardo’s elbow. He follows the path of bone and muscle down until he can curl his fingers around Eduardo’s wrist. He feels Eduardo shift, hears the slight intake of breath.

They fall asleep like that.

 

“Did you figure it out?” His mom whispers to him as she hugs him goodbye and Mark smiles and hugs her back.

“Maybe,” he whispers back.

 

\---

 

“How was your anti-colonialism party?” Mark asks Pisces the next day, holding onto Bossman’s harness with one hand and Ianthe’s leash with the other. Pisces hums.

“We ate a lot and talked about overthrowing the patriarchy.”

“Cool?” Mark asks, and shakes his head. “I need you to get Dustin and Chris in my office for me.”

“On it,” Pisces says and Mark hears them march away.

He lets Bossman and Ianthe guide him to his office and sits down in the desk chair Chris and Eduardo special ordered for him because it’s supposed to improve his posture, and waits.

He hears Dustin and smells Chris before they enter his office and Mark points in the vague direction of his couch. He hears Chris close the door carefully, hears the leather of the couch squeak as they sit on it.

“Are we getting a raise?” Dustin asks after a minute and Mark frowns at him.

“Do you want a raise?” He asks, distracted, because Dustin and Chris have been with him through everything, and if they want a raise they probably deserve it.

 “Ignore him,” Chris recommends and Mark scowls at him. “What is it you wanted to talk to us about? Pisces said it was urgent.”

“She…he…scares me,” Dustin adds.

“They,” Mark corrects firmly. “It’s they/them/theirs.” He sits up. “What I’m about to say is not to leave this room, do you understand?”

“Hang on,” Chris is frowning, Mark can hear it. “Is this work related?”

Christopher has extremely strict ideas about what is and isn’t appropriate for work and Mark respects that mostly because Chris is an unmovable mountain and a pain in his ass and it’s easier to just do what Chris wants but this – “Chris, this is important,” Mark says and hears Chris sigh and settle back in his chair.

“Cone of silence? The unbreakable vow? Scout’s honor?” Dustin asks.

“All of it,” Mark says. He can picture Dustin as he saw him last, fifteen and sunburned and grinning, hair wet and plastered to his forehead and that’s how he pictures Dustin now, skinny and pale and doing the cub scout’s sign.

“It’s about Eduardo,” he says and can basically _hear_ Dustin and Chris roll their eyes, so he keeps talking. “I don’t know how much you know about his…his past, or whatever, but –”

“We know enough,” Dustin says, tone somber.

“He’s been going through stuff, right?” Chris asks delicately and Mark nods.

“We went to my parents’ house for thanksgiving and he finally talked to me and,” Mark stops talking and frowns. Ianthe is there suddenly, nudging her nose against his knee and her pets her head. “He said that he wasn’t enough for his parents, okay. For his mom, specifically. She never…” he waves a hand. “Chose him.”

“Should you be telling us this?” Chris asks.

“Shut up.” Mark orders. “I just…I don’t ever want him to feel like he’s not enough. For me.”

Chris and Dustin don’t say anything for a long moment and Mark looks down, out of habit, and pets Ianthe. He imagines that Chris and Dustin are talking with their eyes, the way some couples do; he likes the thought that he and Eduardo talk with touch instead, that they’ve invented their own little language.

“I think,” Chris says finally, because he is better at this then Dustin is, but Dustin was Mark’s friend first, “you have to do something to show him that he’s enough for you.”

Mark, unbidden, remembers when Eduardo asked him, hesitantly, if Mark loved him – he remembers his surprised pause and the way Eduardo had turned away, the sharp hoarfrost of his voice: _“yeah, okay.”_ He remembers telling Eduardo _you aren’t nothing_ and feeling Eduardo nod into his neck and he bites his lip because that’s what he’s been doing for the past three years.

“That’s – that’s what I’ve been trying to do,” Mark says finally. “I wouldn’t date him if he wasn’t enough for me.”

“I think Chris means you have to make a grand gesture,” Dustin volunteers. “Like, candlelight and fireworks.”

“I don’t do grand gestures,” Mark says flatly. Then: “I put his name on the masthead. I asked him to be my CEO. Facebook was for _him_.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s the definition of a grand gesture and second of all, maybe you have to make another one,” Chris says. His shirt rustles, like he’s shrugging. “Figure it out. I have actual work to do, Mark.”

He and Dustin exit, leaving Mark to his thoughts.

 

“Do you want to do Hanukkah here this year?” Mark asks Eduardo a few days later. “Just, with friends?”

“What about your family?” Eduardo asks and Mark shrugs.

“I just saw them, they’ll understand. Two flights in less then a month isn’t great, and I don’t want to leave Facebook again.”

“Okay,” Eduardo says slowly. Mark wonders what he looks like, knows what Eduardo’s facial expressions feel like but not what they look like and then wonders when he stopped touching Eduardo. He moves forward, hand outstretched, and Eduardo curls his fingers around Mark’s wrist and guides Mark’s hand to his cheek. “Who all did you want to invite?”

“Dustin and his girlfriend, Chris, Chris’s Sean, Pisces, your assistant –”

“Anna Marie,” Eduardo supplies.

“– and I don’t know, whoever else? I can see if Alice and Christy or Erica are in town. The point isn’t to have a big party.”

“Then what is the point?” Eduardo tilts his head; Mark’s fingers skate down from his eyebrows to his lips.

“To have a good time,” Mark ducks his head. “The holidays don’t always have to suck.”

“They don’t suck with you,” Eduardo says, like he didn’t even need to think about it and Mark smiles.

“Good.”

 

Pisces ends up planning the party, because Mark doesn’t _do_ parties, this is all for Eduardo’s benefit – he’s not Jewish religiously but he is Jewish and he attends Hanukkah to see his family. This is different, though – this is for Eduardo.

One night Eduardo shyly admits that he’s glad they’re throwing their friends-only Hanukkah because his new therapist, Midori, said rituals were really important for healing and Mark kisses Eduardo before he thinks better of it.

For the first time since September, Eduardo doesn’t flinch away.

 

\--

 

Life is cyclical. Mark knows that, both the rational and abstract concepts and implications of it. His mother has explained to him, more then once, that recovery is also cyclical, that there are small processes and bigger ones, that there will be good days and bad.

Eduardo isn’t having as many nightmares anymore, but when he does have them, they shake him to the bone. The difference is that he’s touching Mark again, fingertips on Mark’s wrist, chin hooking over Mark’s shoulder, arm slung over Mark’s back.

He’s clinging to Mark the day of their Hanukkah party, one arm around Mark’s waist, hand curled around Mark’s hip, the other holding the _shamash_ with delicate, careful fingers. Mark is chanting the first blessing, words thick and heavy but welcome on his tongue. There is power here, in community, in shared language and tradition, even if he isn’t necessarily religious.

Mark feels Eduardo move to light the appropriate candle and pauses, inhales before moving into the next blessing. Eduardo chants it with him this time and Mark turns his head in Eduardo’s direction, thinks about things that change and things that don’t.

 

Eduardo ends up playing dreidal with Chris and Dustin, while Pisces commandeers the kitchen and makes them latkas, and Raina, Dustin’s girlfriend, argues with Anna Marie about corporate feminism something. Mark can’t quite make it out, is too distracted by Eduardo stroking the inside of his wrist whenever his hands are free. After a time Eduardo drapes himself over Mark’s back, his arms around Mark’s chest, and Mark leans against him.

“This is a nice party,” Eduardo says quietly and Mark smiles, twisting so Eduardo can see, twisting so he can bring his fingertips to Eduardo’s cheek.

“Pisces planned it,” Mark reminds him, fingertips sliding down to Eduardo’s jaw. He feels Eduardo smile.

“But you thought of it. Thank you.”

“For you,” Mark reminds him, can’t quite say something cheesy like _anything for you_ but he wants Eduardo to know. Eduardo drops his cheek against Mark’s neck and Mark thinks maybe he does know. He still intends to remind Eduardo everyday.

 

\--

 

_2008_

 

The new year starts and Eduardo finally starts EMDR, having needed to master heart rate variability training first. He wasn’t good at it, never trusted his body. He tells Mark this in the dark and quiet of night, when Mark is holding him and Eduardo is staring at the wall, faced turned away as if that affords him more privacy. Maybe it does. His façade, donned at thanksgiving, has not reappeared around Mark and Mark has never needed working eyes to understand Eduardo. He thinks even if he had no senses he would still try to understand Eduardo, be drawn to him and make no effort to resist.

“Does Midori have any suggestions, about – trusting your body?” Mark asks when Eduardo has trailed off.

“She mentioned things like self-care, self-love – no, not _that_ kind of self-love,” Eduardo laughs as Mark rolls his hips lazily into Eduardo’s back. “I don’t know. It makes sense when she’s suggesting them in her office, but then I get out and it’s just – different.” He shifts, turns so he’s facing Mark and Mark can feel Eduardo’s breath on his face. “I was wondering, actually, if you had any ideas.”

“About…trusting your body?”

“About trust and the body in general.” Eduardo sounds so earnest. “I have always thought, Mark, that you are particularly brave for navigating a world in the dark. Not – I understand it’s a part of your life, and I don’t want to take that for granted or make it more then it is, but I admire that about you. I would be too scared.”

“No,” Mark frowns, reaches to place his hand on Eduardo’s cheek. “You would be scared, but you’d do it anyway.”

“Oh.” Eduardo’s silence is dark, like he’s lost, and Mark rubs his thumb along the skin under Eduardo’s eye.

“You did a lot of that.” It’s not a question. “I think that’s very brave. You did it because you had too, but it was still brave.”

“I’m scared all the time,” Eduardo whispers instead of replying directly, and Mark bites the inside of his cheek and focuses on that instead of how angry he is at the faceless people in Florida that Eduardo calls parents. “But EMDR is supposed to help.”

Mark thinks about saying _you’re safe here_ and _if it doesn’t work, we’ll find something that will_ but instead he kisses Eduardo softly, and Eduardo sighs into the kiss and finally, finally relaxes.

 

EMDR takes them from good and bad days to good and bad weeks. Mark worries during the bad weeks, goes home early to code on the couch while Eduardo watches the weather channel. Eduardo is withdrawn during his bad weeks, barely speaking, going to work and coming home and not doing much else. But he’s still touching Mark and Mark counts that as progress. 

It’s a bit like loving and living with two people – the Eduardo that is engaged, and the Eduardo is withdrawn. The one that’s grieving and the one that’s living. Mark loves them both, of course, and works out different tactics instead of commenting. He never needs Eduardo to tell him if it’s a good week or a bad week, a good day or bad day, good hour or bad minute – the tang of bitterness and regret is enough to let him know.

At night, Eduardo will reach for Mark over and over again, trusting that Mark will be there but needing to check and Mark takes his hand and holds on. He’ll wake up holding Eduardo’s hand, Bossman at their feet, and sometimes he’ll fall asleep holding Eduardo’s hand, and more and more often Eduardo will reach for his hand when they’re awake. A sort of domestic comfort, subtle but powerful, Mark pressing his fingers to the callouses of Eduardo’s palms and trying to read them like braille.

 

During the good weeks, Eduardo is prone to share sudden, random insights.

“Did you know Chris was in love with Dustin during college?” He asks during one lunch. He has his feet in Mark’s lap, Mark’s laptop resting on his shins, and Mark stops typing in order to fully process this.

“No,” he says finally.

“It was sort of a joke between us,” Eduardo continues. “I was in love with you, and he was in love with Dustin, and we were too chicken to make a move, and you two were too oblivious to notice.”

“I didn’t want to be wrong.” Mark knows he’s frowning petulantly, like a child, but he can’t help it. “I hoped, but – I wasn’t sure.”

“I guess I was sort of oblivious too,” Eduardo says after finishing the last of his burrito.

“You made a move, though,” Mark thinks back, knows Eduardo was laughing and he had his fingers on Eduardo’s cheeks but doesn’t remember much else. “You – you kissed my wrist. And you were laughing.”

“I was reading a funny economist article,” Eduardo is smiling. Mark doesn’t need to touch his face to know that. “And – I don’t know. Everything shifted.”

“It’s good,” Mark manages, unable to communicate the immense feeling within him. “It’s really good.”

 

Othertimes, the insights are bleaker, and Mark will wake up to a quiet but wide awake Eduardo, an Eduardo that is too tired to be sad, so he’s just reflective.

“I was the one that left them,” he tells Mark one night. “They didn’t leave me. So why does it feel like they did?”

“I don’t think they gave you much choice,” Mark manages, muzzy and exhausted, and rolls until his nose is pressed into Eduardo’s chest hair. “You had to leave to survive. Wasn’t fair.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Eduardo whispers bitterly and Mark moves enough to wrap his arms around Eduardo. He isn’t sure how to put Eduardo back together, doesn’t think he can, just knows he wants to hold the two pieces of him in place long enough that Eduardo can find a way to glue himself back together.

“They’re my parents,” Eduardo sighs. “But they weren’t in the ways that mattered.”

“I hate them,” Mark says without thinking. “I hate what they did to you. What they didn’t do.”

“It’s complicated.” Eduardo goes from angry to defensive so quickly Mark has to bite his tongue. “It’s hard to explain.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mark says finally. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t…deserve that.”

“I’m not really angry at him, not anymore,” Eduardo says instead of agreeing. “Just – at her. But she did the best she could, and –”

“And it wasn’t enough.” Mark finishes. He doesn’t say, _like you weren’t enough_. He knows Eduardo is thinking it.

“I don’t know if it’s really her fault,” Eduardo shifts. He can’t settle, can’t be angry at his mother without simultaneously defending her.

“I don’t think it’s just her fault,” Mark offers with a yawn. “It was hers, and your dad’s. But not yours. You were enough, and they…weren’t.”

Eduardo is quiet. Mark falls asleep waiting for another answer.

 

January slides into February and Mark thinks about grand gestures. Dustin keeps talking about Valentine’s day – Mark can’t remember what they did for Valentine’s day before this – but now he wants to make it special. To make it clear to Eduardo that he matters.

He’s still mulling it over when Eduardo comes home from his therapy session – with Marielle, this time. Now that he’s making so much progress with EMDR, he’s starting alternating them – Marielle one week, Midori the next.

“How was therapy?” Mark asks from the couch. Ianthe is sprawled in his lap, which is unusual for her – she’s usually respectful of the fact he needs his lap to hold his computer – but she’s old and Mark figures she can do what she wants after helping him for so long.

He hears Eduardo sigh and then the couch cushions next to Mark sag as Eduardo sits next to him. Mark doesn’t need eyes to know Eduardo is scratching Bossman’s ears.

“Marielle wants me to shift my focus,” the word comes slowly – Eduardo is clearly still thinking about it, still unsure how he feels and Mark reflexively offers Eduardo his hand; Eduardo squeezes it. “From my past, and from being in recovery, to the future.”

“Why?”

“I think she wants me to stop obsessing about being in recovery.” Eduardo laughs dryly. “I’m _always_ going to be in recovery, is what she said. So instead of focusing on it, she says I should focus on the future. On things I’m working for, and things I’m looking forward too.”

Mark thinks about this, and about Valentine’s day, and how this week Eduardo hasn’t had any nightmares. “What are you looking forward to?”

Eduardo hums, thinking about it. “My future with you,” he says after a minute.  “Watching Facebook grow. Watching Chris singlehandedly get this senator from Illinois elected.”

“Obama,” Mark says absently. He’s not really paying attention anymore, because Eduardo’s words – _my future with you_ – are playing on loop in his mind, are bright and shining and Mark suddenly knows exactly what he wants to do.

 

\---

 

He needs Chris and Dustin’s help, of course – Mark is good with details but not when those details are visual, and so Chris takes him shopping one day while Dustin stays with Eduardo and distracts him.

Mark has never liked the mall but he trusts Chris’s judgment on everything, so when Chris says _we’re going to Tiffany’s – it’s the best_ , Mark agrees. Because Eduardo deserves the best. Eventually, when he tells Eduardo that, Eduardo will believe him.

“Eduardo is simple but elegant,” Chris explains to Mark as they drive over there. Mark pictures Chris – an abstract, blond person with careful hands – and turns to face him, imagines Chris must be focusing on the road. Chris is careful like that. “He always wears well cut suits and his hair is always done and he’s always put together. He likes the finer things in life.” Mark knew that, at least – Eduardo had splurged when he bought himself a car, which Mark doesn’t really understand. As long as it works he doesn’t care what it looks like or what the brand is. “He also has really warm, golden skin, so gold will look better on him then silver.”

Mark is distracted, momentarily, by Chris’s words – _warm, golden skin_. That’s how Eduardo smells, how he looks in Mark’s head – light up and beautiful. “I thought gold looked good on everyone,” he says after a minute, and Chris just laughs.

There’s apparently a lot of variation on rings, even if they’re all basically the same. Chris never gets tired of explaining exactly _how_ the rings look and doesn’t hesitate to explain to the store managers that _this is Mark Zuckerberg, CEO of Facebook_ and that Mark should be allowed to handle every ring he wants, because he’s blind and also because he has more money then god.

(Chris is a bit more diplomatic then that.)

Mark finally settles on a ring of hammered gold that isn’t too thick or thin – beautiful, elegant, but still masculine.

“Is that symbolic?” Chris asks. “Like, Eduardo has been through a lot but is still beautiful and wonderful?”

Mark stares at him. “It feels nice,” he explains finally, very slowly, because they’re in a nice store and saying _what the fuck Christopher_ isn’t an appropriate thing to do.

He thinks he hears Chris cough.

“Would you like to get it engraved?” The woman helping them asks. She’s been nothing but patient with Mark and he really likes her, possibly because she reminds him of Pisces. They both have the same air of unflappability, but then again if someone is being paid as much as this lady and Pisces are, Mark thinks no demand is too hard to accommodate.

“Yes,” Mark says after a minute, petting Bossman’s head absently. He wants the engraving to _mean_ something, but he’s not sappy, not like Christopher or Dustin or any of his sisters.

The sales associate is waiting, he can tell.

“Can it say ‘more then enough,’ please?” Mark asks, and swears he hears Christopher sigh in approval. “That’s it, just – ‘more then enough’.”

 

“This seems a bit spur of the moment,” Dustin remarks as he drives Mark to his training session with Bossman’s trainer – Mark needs to learn how to get down on one knee smoothly. Chris kept telling him that it was _important_. “You only have six days until Valentine’s Day.”

“I’m not proposing on Valentine’s Day,” Mark tells him. Then: “It just feels right, you know?”

“Can I be your best man?” Dustin asks and Mark grins at him. “Like the maid of honor, but without any of the responsibility, except for the rings?”

“Maybe,” Mark says. Dustin reaches out and punches his shoulder and Mark laughs. Of course he’s going to choose Dustin. Dustin’s been there since day one, since before Mark was blind, before Mark was even able to walk.

“Is it because of the bill that we’re voting on later this year?” Dustin asks as he parks the car. “The one on same-sex marriage?”

“Oh,” Mark says, frowning. “I had forgotten about that, to be completely honestly.”

“Good timing, Marky Mark,” Dustin is grinning, Mark can hear it in his voice. “You nailed it.”

 

\---

 

The day before Valentine’s day, Mark convinces Pisces to drive him home earlier, after explaining his grand plan to Pisces and swearing them to secrecy. Chris had gone and picked the ring up for Mark earlier that week, and now it sat in Mark’s hoodie pocket.

(Both Ianthe and Bossman had sniffed it – since neither of them had growled or barked, Mark figured they approved).

He has time until Eduardo gets home, but doesn’t have the ability to light candles or pour wine or anything like that, so he showers, changes into clean, slightly dressier clothes, and promptly gets dirty again because Ianthe decides to shed all over him. He’s trying to convince her and Bossman to get off of him when he hears Eduardo come home.

“You will not believe the day I’ve had,” Eduardo says as he comes into the living room. Mark stands, hands in his hoodie pocket. “Scoggins – that idiot in accounting – messed up on the numbers for this quarter and we’re all going to have to work overtime to fix it.”

The urge to be CEO wars with the urge to be a good boyfriend/potential fiancé. Mark frowns.

“Don’t worry, I fired him,” Eduardo says, his voice growing fainter. Mark knows he’s in the kitchen, is getting himself a beer – Eduardo has a routine for every type of day, including bad days. “I know how much you hate incompetent people, and he’s cost us a lot of work. Hopefully he didn’t make any more mistakes, but I’m going to be forced to review all of his work to make sure.” Mark hears him come back into the living room. “Mark – why are you standing?”

Mark aims a smile in Eduardo’s direction, and holds open his arms.

Eduardo comes to him immediately, and Mark tilts his head up for a kiss, his arms going automatically around Eduardo’s waist.

“Hi,” Eduardo says, smiling against Mark’s lips. “What’s this about?”

Mark shrugs, takes a step background, and, slowly – like he practiced – sinks to one knee.

Eduardo doesn’t say anything.

Carefully, Mark gets the box out of his hoodie pocket, makes sure it’s facing Eduardo, and opens it.

“I know that it’s more traditional to do this on Valentine’s Day,” he says conversationally, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “But that’s way too cliché for me, and I figured you’d be expecting it. So I decided to do it today.”

“Mark.” Eduardo’s voice is shaking. Mark thinks the rest of him probably is too.

“What you said about focusing on your future got me thinking,” Mark continues. “I want us to have a future together. I want you to always look forward to it. But I also want to make it happen. I know…” he clears his throat. “I know that your family situation is really, really fucked up, and I don’t always understand it. But I want you to know that I…” Mark pauses again, swallows. “That I love you, Wardo, and that you have always been more then enough for me, and I want you to know that I choose you today and I’m going to choose you everyday for the rest of our lives. Because you are enough. And eventually maybe we can make our own family, and be good to our children and to each other. So…” His eyes are burning. Mark resists the urge to scowl, because this is a romantic occasion, but crying was never part of the plan. “Will you marry me, Wardo? Please?”

Eduardo is crying. Mark fights his concern because he’s heard Eduardo cry so often these past few months, but then Eduardo’s hands are on his, tugging him up right, and Mark reaches up to trace the outline of Eduardo’s face. He’s smiling.

“I will,” Eduardo says in this hushed, awed voice, and he sounds so fucking happy despite his tears that Mark can’t help but smile back at him, relief making him sag.

“Well, then put on the ring,” he orders and Eduardo laughs. Then, in a small voice, Eduardo says:

“Oh. It says – more then enough.”

Mark nods. He doesn’t need to explain it to Eduardo; the memory of that night, of that conversation, of Eduardo confess – _I wasn’t enough for them_ – is present in the room now, dark between them, so he reaches out and kisses Eduardo gently, licking his lower lip and raising his hands to cup Eduardo’s face.

“That’s what you are to me,” he explains. “More then enough. Always.”

Trembling, Eduardo lets Mark guide the ring onto his finger before yanking at the hem of Mark’s shirt forcefully, enough for Mark to get the picture. He puts down the ring box and sheds hoodie and t-shirt, knowing Eduardo is unbuttoning his own shirt.

“I love you,” Eduardo says, kissing down Mark’s neck, his hands fumbling on the zipper of Mark’s jeans. Mark is trying to unbutton Eduardo’s slacks. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Mark gasps against Eduardo’s chest, and then Eduardo is tugging him up the stairs. Mark has enough time to say _private_ sternly to both dogs before letting him be lead to their bedroom, where Eduardo backs him up onto the bed and kisses him, hands roaming.

“I don’t really want to get lube on your new ring,” Mark gasps when they stop kissing in order to breathe. “It seems too pretty for that.”

Eduardo laughs and finally pulls off Mark’s jeans, and then tugs off his boxers. Mark stretches out on the bed, content to let Eduardo take control. He’s gotten better at that, knows Eduardo craves the weight of Mark’s hand in his hair or on his wrists, but knows sometimes Eduardo has to lead them through territory they’re both unfamiliar with. He waits while Eduardo steps away, and then Eduardo returns, having peeled off the rest of his clothes, and moves so their cocks are touching, soft skin against soft skin, Eduardo scratching lightly at the base of Mark’s balls.

“Move,” Mark orders, sucking a mark onto Eduardo’s neck and Eduardo laughs and licks his palm and then starts to jerk them both off, their slippery cock heads bumping together. Eduardo is bending awkwardly to take one of Mark’s nipples in his mouth and Mark doesn’t need to be able to see to know that he is beautiful, all long legs and golden colored skin and, most importantly, joy. Eduardo is full of joy.

He takes over jerking them off, bumping Eduardo’s hand out of the way and fisting their cocks, twisting his hand at the heads the way he knows Eduardo likes, and then whispers in Eduardo’s ear, “we’re getting married,”and Eduardo laugh-groans and comes all over Mark’s hand. He collapses onto the bed and Mark props himself up, still jerking off furiously, hand and cock slick with Eduardo’s come. He hears Eduardo moan appreciatively and that’s what sends him over the edge – he comes with Eduardo kissing him, his body shuddering through his orgasm.

 

Later, Eduardo rolls over in bed and says “February 14th, _really?_ ” and Mark laughs.

“It worked,” he pointed out. “You said yes.”

“Like I would ever say no,” Eduardo says in a completely different tone of voice, and kisses Mark’s cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes you do,” Mark says fiercely. “I want you to know that, Wardo. I want you to believe it. You deserve me. You deserve everything good in this world. I’m going to tell you everyday until you believe me.”

Eduardo shifts until his head is on Mark’s chest. “And you can, because we’re getting married.”

“Yes,” Mark agrees, smiling stupidly. “We’re getting married.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bossman looks like [this,](http://media.tumblr.com/f7e1b1370049cdad74b47ed59619c7ad/tumblr_inline_mr5n69Tvkt1qi5wyn.jpg) except older.  
> [This](https://www.josephjewelry.com/jewelry/images/Custom-Mens-Hammered-Yellow-Gold-Wedding-Band-3Qtr-100269.jpg) is what Eduardo's ring looks like.  
> [This](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eye_movement_desensitization_and_reprocessing) is an explanation of EMDR.  
> Pisces is a chubby genderfluid person of color based on someone I met briefly while living in the south! I figured I'd describe them since Mark is blind and doesn't actually know what they look like.   
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read the second part of this fic. For those of you in recovery: hang in there. You can do it. And I'm always here to talk if you need me.  
> come say hi on [tumblr! ](marnz.tumblr.com) prompts welcome!


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